Midnight Snorkelling

As you know, I have been learning to scuba dive. As soon as I had completed my first dive, I immediately enquired as to whether it would be possible to dive at night. After all, think of all the nocturnal creatures that could be seen at night. Think how much more alien an already alien environment would seem.

Sadly, you need a few lessons, and to have completed a few more dives to dive at night. I have only had time for two, plus a skills session in a villa pool.

However, I was determined to have a taster of the night sea, and so I suggested to Alistair that we might go for a night snorkel, armed with diving lights. We went to St George's Bay, which is only up to 5 metres deep at some points, and enclosed by rocks, which form a nice barrier from the crashing waves of the open sea.

It was an experience I highly recommed. We swam under a new moon, and the sea was warm. Slowly, we shone our torches across the sea bed, rocks, and nooks. Hovering throughout the water were thousands of little fry, fast asleep, seemingly to young to be woken or bothered by our lights. The glare from our torches illuminated their transparent bodies, and I thought they looked rather like tiny ghosts. And then down below, in a deeper section of the pool, we saw something I thought I'd never see. There beneath us was a huge conch shell, presumably housing a very large hermit crab. It must have been 8 or 9 inches across, and was the kind of thing most people only ever see decorating people's bathrooms. I also discovered that sea-slugs, or sea-cucumbers come out at night. They really do look like large, fat cucumbers, and though I couldn't, I had a strong desire to squish one in my hands to see what it would feel like. Fire-worms also like the night-time. We saw an astonishling large one. One mustn't touch these. Ouch. However, if you disturb the water a few inches in front of them, they ripple. At one point, we shone our torches towards the surface, whether at day or night, this is often a good idea, as you'd be surprised how many fish lurk near the surface, and are rendered almost invisible because of it. We disturbed a large shoal of fish, old enough to panic, and their bodies darted and flurried in all directions, but I quickly called a stop to this, as I am not in the business of frightening creatures needlessly.

We swam for an hour or so, then made our way up the sandy beach. Our bags had been left beside sunbeds and sunshades that had been deserted for the night. The only noise were the sounds of breaking waves, and the buzzing of crickets in the distance. Alistair reached into our bag, and pulled out the largest towel. As we stood beneath the moon and all the stars, he took the largest towel from our bag, pulled me in, and wrapped it round us both. I nuzzled into his soft neck, still slippery with sea-water. And then he lifted my chin, looked into my eyes, told me how much he loved me, and kissed me. And it was one of those perfect kisses, long, lingering. And it was one of those moments where you feel as if you could almost breathe in the soul of the other person.

Except for one minor detail. When we climbed onto the beach, we made our way to our bags. Alistair pulled out the largest towel and pulled me in close. He asked if I had had a nice swim, and if I thought it had been romantic. I said yes (although that was more in reference to what was to come, rather than the swim itself, because we had been underwater with tubes, and focusing on trying to find interesting animals...) I kissed him, but he ensured it was short, and more like a peck. I kissed his neck, and made my way up to his mouth. I attempted to gently coax the kiss I wanted. I failed. I masked my disappointment and suggested we dress. He asked me why I was so eager to do so, so I told him that he did not seem particularly taken with my kisses, so we should get ready. He said something about snogging being inappropriate in such a public setting. I looked around, but there was no one else in sight, and the distant windows and balconies of hotel rooms were so far away that binoculars would be needed to see us. And what the hell is wrong with one snog in public at the beach under the stars?

Snapshot

Cyprus snaps:

Wandering donkey at the shelter.

Kitten in box at the shelter.

Comedy donkey head at the shelter.

Baby donkeys!

More baby donkeys. It's all too much.

Sea of cats at the shelter.

Me with the kitten that loved me.

Me at my happiest.

The view from the winery on the mountain-top.

The entrance to the winery.

The view from our villa.

Jealous?

It 'Aint Half Hot, Mum...

Whatever happened to Maisie and Alistair? Did she finally leave him, never to speak to him again? Did he see the error of his ways? Did they elope and live happily ever after in a bubble of perverted bliss?

I am not telling. Yet.

Suffice to say, they are currently in Cyprus, and it is very, very hot.

Obviously, things can't carry on in too normal a fashion, so just to add a bit of spice, Alistair took me to his ex's father's place to stay. He lives in Cyprus with his partner. I must say that they are very lovely, caring, considerate, hospitable people. I was worried that the weird factor would be too much for me, but I have been having a blast, largely because I am getting on so well with the ex's father's partner. She is a straight-talking Scottish lady, with a wonderful sense of humour.

Alistair is spending most of the time working. We got our flights on the cheap, and this was all intended as a bit of a working holiday for us. An opportunity to do what must be done in a beautiful environment. The villa is perfectly placed, so one can sit and work on the verandah, with a view of the mountains, which sweep down to the town, which sweeps down to the sea.

I have been snorkelling, which I had never done before, and even better, I have been learning to scuba dive. The ex's father, let's call him Robert, is an assistant diving instructor. I am loving every minute. For me, it's all about feeling as if I am in my very own wildlife documentary. Those who know me are well aware of my obsession with the animal kingdom, and scuba diving has given me the opportunity to explore a world that I thought I would never see for myself. And it is breathtaking.

In addition to all of this, Robert's partner, Pearl, has taken me to see the animal shelter and sanctuary. I was so impressed with this place. Cyprus is not famous for its appreciation of animal welfare, and so the tiny, dedicated team have the odds stacked against them. In their small, rather barren plot of land, they manage to care for horses, donkeys, goats, dogs, and cats. The cat shelter is awesome. Most of the animals never get rehomed, and so they have come up with a good idea to cope with this problem. The cats have a large, immaculately clean hut, with bed, food, and toilet facilities, from which they can come and go as they please. Only the very young, or sick, are kept locked in. The cats never leave, because they receive such good care. The only trouble is that all are a little thinner than I would like. This is because the shelter struggles for money, and has just enough to keep all of them running. When we visited, the cats evidently miss human affection, because when I sat on a rock to adjust my shoe, about 6 of them jumped on me, purring, and snuggling, and refusing to budge. I was in heaven.

The Shelter is in Paphos. Please visit their website, http://www.cyprusanimalwelfare.com/ www.facebook/paphiakos

I am still around, and it's about to start up again...

I don't know if there are any of you guys still bobbing around out there, but it's time to warm up the keyboard again.

Whatever happened to the tragic tale of Maisie and Alistair? Well...

It's a scream, baby!

My apologies, as this will be a quick check in.

Stay with me people, as I have much to say. I am now a professional submissive, and recently had my first really real, as real as it gets session. If you expect a troll, things can only get better... He was tall, handsome, educated... *sigh*. Stay with me, and as soon as I have time, I shall tell you a story.

This entry is designed to be a quick hello, and a rant. I am a creature of extremes, but sometimes I hate that my life follows suit. Alistair is either practically Prince Charming, or a total arse who completely takes advantage of me.

Oh, do stay with me. I haven't been able to retell the great betrayal... and now we have part deux.

And yet, he manages to pull it all back in there.

And yet, here we go again. He is in dire straits, running out of money, the mistress of the porn site he is co-running is insane, and has tried to quit, he has spent every penny on making this work. I agree to help him make a go of it, working for free. Yesterday, he got up really late, whilst I had been busting a gut all day. He is meant to get up today to help me (over the internet, of course), because I cannot progress without him. I get a call at 13.30. He stayed up all night partying. He is off to bed.

I am an absolute, pure, complete fool.

This has been poorly written. I am ashamed, and my usual finesse spits on me.

Call me old fashioned, but...

Friends, there are some things that one simply does not do in polite society. In fact, I would wager that even those with the most dubious of upbringings would balk at what I am about to share with you...

Tonight, I switched on my laptop and opened up what I believed to be an innocuous little file, well, as innocuous as a file full of pornographic material could be. But imagine my surprise, (and I really want you to try here), when I was confronted with an image of my friend, rubbered up, jumping on what can only be described as the kitchen counter, and pissing into what can only be described as the kettle. Yes indeed. It appears that civilisation somehow bypassed her little town, so close to the robust decency of London, and yet so far.

I was at her house only a few days ago. As an atheist, I feel no compulsion to thank god that I did not accept an offer of tea, however, I am once again reminded that my love of gin is a worthwhile pursuit. Had it not been for the bottle of Bombay Saph perched provocatively on the counter, my palette and mind might have been traumatised beyond repair.

Cheap prosecco and Ann Summers do not the kink ball make...

It wasn't a bad night, but it wasn't all that. And frankly, the fact that I had been promised free champagne, but given cheap prosecco was outrageous. And I love prosecco, I really do, but this was fizzy, alcoholic sugar.

The one in the middle, that's me. On the left of the picture is a lovely friend, who showed up unexpectedly, and on the right, well, that's Alistair. I went a little heavy with the smudge tool on those guys. Those of you who have been with me long enough will remember the fateful day when Alistair found my blog. Whilst I have refused to pull any punches, whether he reads it or not, I still feel the need to smear his face beyond all recognition, it's only fair.

Do you like my gown? That be 100% pure silk, with train, the whole shebang. It was given to me as payment for modelling at a show for these guys.

I am surprised we made it at all, considering Alistair left it until about an hour before the cab arrived to finally accept that he needs some fetish clothes to go to clubs in. Don't get me wrong, he has a truck load of gear, but most of it is either useful only as part of a session, or is a little too skimpy to go to an "exclusive" fetish ball in. Truth be told, the man hardly ever leaves the house, preferring the endless conveyor belt of women to come to him. Actually, I must be fair, he does attend and throw private fetish house parties. These are convenient, since he can wear both of his uniforms, i.e. the only fetish wear that he ever wears: upon arrival: leather trousers and black top, an hour later: little leather thong (butt plug if he's lucky).

I digress.

He left it as late as he could to have a hissy about the lack of clothes, managing to produce only an old black rubber catsuit, and an old pair of black rubber chaps. I favoured the chaps, since his backside is of epic cuteness. However, some bastard guests had pinched the polish from the fetish B&B that he runs, with my assistance. I have the patience of a saint, so I managed to smile through adversity, despite the fact that I hadn't been laced into my corset, and the cab had arrived.

But we got there, and he looked lovely. But I always think that, which is one of the reasons I just can't put him down. But he did.

We got there early, as he didn't want to miss out on the champagne. It was fucking prosecco. Nonetheless, it was served to me by one of the hottest, buffest (can't believe I just said that) bits of crumpet that one is ever likely to see, wearing only a pair of tight shorts. Nice.

The venue really wasn't very "exclusive". I was expecting marble, and plush furnishings, and a really nice loo. I always say that you can tell the quality of an establishment by how chic its loos are. Regarding this establishment, I have graced worse toilet seats, but I have graced a hell of a lot better too.

And the people started to arrive.

Hmmmmmm.

Young crowd. Young oh-my-darlings-aren't-we-being-edgy crowd. They were hot, no doubt about that, but it became apparent that each one had only just bought their riding crop at Ann Summers, and after tonight, it was in danger of never being brought out the closet again. And there was very little good conversation to be had.

Call me old fashioned, but even if they are mind bogglingly, angels-weeping-tears-of-joy hot, I just can't kiss 'em unless they're clever.

Eventually I made my way to the dungeon, I noticed it was a dead end, and then I noticed a horny tranny and her mistress making a bee-line. I fled.

However, Alistair and I did meet one extremely lovely, genuine woman. I really liked her, and we are keeping in touch already. More on her later.

Eventually, after a failed after-party at someone's house, Alistair and I reached home on Saturday morning. It was only 9am... shockingly, nay, disgustingly early for us. And so we had our own little party. 8 hours of play in the dungeon.

I cannot begin to describe the things we did, suffice to say that if I told you, you'd probably end up running away. And for once, Alistair subbed to me, and looked at me with those burning eyes of his. The eyes that make me want to be cruel, the eyes I want to see cry... They almost did, I think, on Monday night, when we revisited the weekend. It's a compelling, addictive, and entirely unhealthy game we play. It's a game that horrifies him, disturbs him, and yet makes him so hard... And as I push him, force him into doing things of nightmarish proportions, I am waiting for those moments where the desire takes him over, and he begs for more, and for me to hurt him.